


After the Hunt

by SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural Novels - Various
Genre: Dark Dean Winchester, Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester And Reader, Dean-Centric, Demons, Domestic Dean Winchester, F/M, Mark of Cain, dean winchester sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:45:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop/pseuds/SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine waking up the morning after a particularly bad hunt, and finding Dean Winchester next to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Hunt

You woke up to the pale morning light creeping in the window. It was raining outside. You peered at your watch and discovered it wasn't yet 6am.  _Great_ , you thought.  _More time to sleep_. That's when you noticed something odd. There was a hand on your ass. 

A questioning look on your face, you turned slightly and peered over your left shoulder at the sleeping form next to you. Dean Winchester. A very naked Dean Winchester. 

As memories from the night before began flooding back into your memory, he groggily opened his eyes. They looked up and met yours.

***

The hunt had been a disaster. Or it would have been, had you not been there to clean up the mess. Crowley had once again avoided the two of you. In his stead, he'd left you a house chock full of demons, all of whom knew you were coming.

You and Dean had been hunting together for three weeks. Sam had broken his leg, and he and Cas were tracking down leads from the bunker. They had enlisted your help, mostly because you were available and actually willing to help a Winchester (not the smartest thing to do in the Hunter's playbook- everyone with a lick of sense knew those boys were always dying), and partly because of your reputation for being somewhat unorthodox in your methids. Your relationship had started off slightly rocky. It was obvious that Dean didn't want to hunt with anyone besides Sam and his Mark of Cain bullshit made him somewhat of a pain in the ass; you were used to flying solo and less that thrilled to put up with someone hellbent on being an asshole. But it hadn't taken long for the two of you to begin to get along. You both had wicked senses of humor, and when you weren't fighting for humanity, you were having a hell of a good time living in whatever hellhole town you were in.

This particular night, you'd shown up at the hideout where Crowley supposedly was playing a wicked cardgame with a few of Hell's most wanted... only to find it overrun with Demons. As per usual, Dean had crashed the party before properly surveying the scene. That damned Mark made him reckless, and he knew it and didn't care, no matter how many times you or anyone else told him so. He'd fought off a shitload of Demons with the First Blade, but by the time you got to him, they were winning the fight and beginning to overtake him. It was a good thing you were inventive. 

A few months back, you had procured (for lack of a better term) an Angel Blade. Since you already had one, you melted the second one down, producing from it 700 tiny ballbearings. Each tiny round ball you placed into an individual bullet. Which Dean was lucky enough to find that you had loaded into your gun, and taken out the last twenty Demons with tonight. He looked on in awe and confusion as they got shot with what appeared to be a regular gun, and died. You unloaded your clip, ran for it, reloaded, turned, and unloaded on them again. When they were all just lifeless piles on the floor, Dean approached you. 

"How the fuck did you just kill Demons with a gun?" He asked you, cleaning gore from his own blade. 

"Melted down an Angel Blade." You replied, reloading again just in case. "You're welcome, by the way." You turned to leave. "He's not here. We're chasing our tails. Let's go." 

Dean led the way out of the house, but turned at the door. "How exactly did you get an Angel Blade to melt down?"

You looked at him coyly. "Trust me Dean, don't ask. You don't want to know."

He seemed like he was going to push the issue, but decided against it. The two of you got back into his car, and began the drive back to the cabin you were currently squatting in. He caught a glimpse of something inside your coat. 

"Oh gimme a break! You have  _another_  Angel Blade??" He raised his eyebrows at you incredulously. You shrugged. 

"How the hell did you get  _two_?"

"They were... available." You replied. He let out a long, withering sigh, and you drove in silence for a while. The weather was turning poor. It went from poor to bad. Sprinkling to drizzling to downpour, to thunder and lightning. Soon, Dean had the Impala practically crawling down the road, the wipers on full blast against the torrential downpour. It seemed to take forever to make it back to the tiny cabin.

He parked the Impala as close to the cabin as humanly possible, but in the thirty seconds it took to get from the car to the door, you were both soaked through to the skin. It was also freezing. You waited, shivering, for him to unlock the door.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean swore as he swung the door open and flicked on the lights. The floor of the cabin had partially flooded thanks to a leak in the ceiling. His sleeping bag was soaked, as were both of your backpacks full of dry clothes- the leak was conveniently right above where you'd stashed them. Your heart sank. It was going to be a cold night.

Dean kicked angrily at his sleeping bag, as you started pulling clothes out of your pack and laying them on the countertop to dry. You grabbed a large pot from the cabinet and placed it under the leak. “Dean, don't worry. You can just share the sofa bed tonight. It's not a big deal.” I tried to stay positive. It was really the only option. He couldn't freeze on the floor in a wet sleeping bag, and the sofa bed was the only other place the one-room cabin had to sleep.

After cleaning your guns, teeth chattering the whole time, you climbed under your sleeping bag on the sofa bed. Your clothing had dried some, but not much. You both tossed and turned for a while. Finally Dean turned to you. “I hate to be inappropriate, Princess, but I'm fucking freezing in these clothes. I think I'm getting hypothermia.”

You sighed. You didn't disagree. You were so cold, you couldn't feel your toes or fingers anymore. You told him so. You lay in silence in the dark for a beat. “There's really only one way to handle this.” You finally said.

“We lose the clothes.” He replied.

“You don't have to sound so happy about it.” You said scoldingly, but you felt yourself smiling. In under a minute, you were both out of your wet clothes. You were still cold, but much less so.

After about five minutes, you finally had to give in. “Dean, I'm still fucking freezing.” you admitted.

“Body heat?” He asked.

You nodded. “I think so. I really don't want to freeze to death in this God forsaken cabin.” You could just imagine Sam and Cas looking for you, finding you both naked and frozen in this place. Not a good way to go, or to be remembered.

Dean was at your side in about two seconds, his arms around you, his hands travelling up and down your arms, trying to warm you up with frozen fingers of his own. You had to give him credit- his libido was a thing of legend, but he was being very dignified. His hands weren't travelling anywhere unrespectable.

“You seem pretty eager.” You couldn't help but tease him.

“I can't say I'm _not_ happy about it.” Dean finally said into the darkness. You giggled.

To be honest, you and Dean had been on the verge of, well, _something_ , for weeks. A glance here, a touch held a little too long there, the fact that he wasn't picking up on anyone else anytime you were out at a bar; _something_ was going on. But you both played it off like nothing.

“I can be a little less happy if you want.” Dean said.

“No, no... I can't say this is altogether unpleasant.” You replied, turning towards him and wrapping your arms around him, trying to keep him warm as well. “Oh... um... I see what you mean.” He _was_ happy.

“Yeah. Hey I'm _really sorry_ about that. Just, you know, stop moving. It'll go away in a second.” He seemed embarrassed. You couldn't see him in the dark, but he sounded mortified. You laughed. “Jesus, Y/N, don't laugh at me! That's cruel!” He said in mock insult.

“I'm not laughing at you.” You said, calming myself. “I'm laughing at the situation.”

“ _It is kind of ridiculous_.” He said. Then he leaned down in the dark and kissed you. His tongue slid delicately into your mouth, his lips colliding with yours. He drew back for a moment, waiting to see if you'd reciprocate. You drew in a breath, ran a hand up through his hair, and pulled him back towards you.

“You have protection?” You asked him, gasping for air as he made his way under the covers towards your center. You could feel him smile against you in the dark.

“You have your Angel Blade.” He said, chuckling.

“You know what I mean!”

He slipped out of bed into the freezing cold, and returned a minute later with a condom. “Of course I do. I'm always prepared.” He kissed you once again, then resumed his position under the covers, lavishing you with attention until your toes curled and you thought you were going to ignite with passion. Then he was on top of you, inside of you; you were intertwined. The coldness was gone, and all that was left was warmth, emotion, and Dean.

Dean's eyes fluttered open. He looked around. He looked over at you, seeming to notice where his hand was and that he didn't have any clothes on. You looked at him sheepishly. Now that it was morning, you weren't exactly sure what to make of the night before. You were happy with the decision, but what if Dean had changed his mind, or worse, just didn't care? You were just glad you two hadn't been drunk or anything.

“Did we... sleep together?” He asked, still in the early morning throes of confusion. “We did, didn't we?”

You nodded. You noticed that he hadn't moved his hand from it's resting place on your bottom.

A small smile spread across his lips. He moved his hand, not away from you, but encircling your waist, pulling you closer. “Friggin' finally.” He whispered in your ear. “Finally.” He closed his eyes, holding you close, and fell back asleep, the rain outside tapping against the window.

 


End file.
